Del Toro’s “Frankenstein” Rewrites the Classic—But Does It Honor Shelley’s Vision? Experts Weigh In

Guillermo del Toro’s long-anticipated adaptation of Frankenstein has finally arrived, and while the filmmaker has openly described Mary Shelley’s 1818 novel as a sacred text, his latest interpretation takes bold liberties with the source material. Released on Netflix and starring Oscar Isaac as Victor Frankenstein, Jacob Elordi as the Creature and Mia Goth as Elizabeth, the film has already sparked debate among scholars and fans over its deviations from the original work.

Del Toro has been transparent about his approach: his Frankenstein is not designed to be a line-for-line retelling. Instead, it reimagines central characters, restructures key relationships, and omits several figures considered essential to the novel’s emotional and moral architecture.

Most notably, the character of Elizabeth—traditionally Victor’s gentle, doomed fiancée—is significantly reinvented. In del Toro’s version, portrayed by Mia Goth, she becomes a more active narrative force and a psychological counterweight to Victor’s obsessive genius. The shift reframes her from passive victim to an influential agent in Victor’s life, transforming the emotional stakes of the story.

Meanwhile, Victor himself receives a revised backstory, departing from Shelley’s emphasis on childhood trauma, parental influence and philosophical education. The filmmaker streamlines several relationships as well, cutting characters such as Henry Clerval, Victor’s loyal friend, and Justine Moritz, the family servant wrongfully executed for murder—a subplot that, in Shelley’s novel, deepens the moral tragedy of Victor’s silence.

For purists, these changes may seem drastic. But del Toro argues that accuracy was never the point.

“The usual discourse of Frankenstein has to do with science gone awry,” del Toro told Variety in an August cover story. “But for me, it’s about the human spirit. It’s not a cautionary tale: It’s about forgiveness, understanding and the importance of listening to each other.”

This perspective marks a philosophical departure from many past adaptations, particularly Universal’s classic 1931 film and Kenneth Branagh’s 1994 Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, which leaned heavily into the horrors of unrestrained scientific ambition and the consequences of blasphemous creation. While those films framed the story as a warning, del Toro positions it as an exploration of empathy—between creator and creation, and between humans and the misunderstood.

To assess how these creative choices align with Shelley’s original vision, we spoke with Julie Carlson, an English professor at the University of California, Santa Barbara and a scholar of British Romantic literature, particularly the Wollstonecraft-Godwin-Shelley family.

Carlson notes that Shelley’s novel is often misread through the lens of its cultural adaptations rather than its text. While her narrative does critique the dangerous pursuit of knowledge, she argues that del Toro’s thematic focus may actually echo the novel more closely than some faithful plot retellings.

“Shelley’s story is about responsibility—specifically, the responsibility one holds toward life one creates,” Carlson explains. “The Creature’s suffering is not the result of being born, but of being abandoned. That moral failure is central to the novel.”

In that respect, Carlson sees del Toro’s emphasis on emotional connection and listening as aligned with Shelley’s deeper concerns.

“Del Toro seems interested in restoring the Creature’s humanity,” she adds. “That’s closer to Shelley than portrayals that reduce him to a monstrous spectacle or scientific warning.”

Still, Carlson acknowledges that the omission of key characters alters the narrative’s moral landscape, particularly the removal of Justine Moritz, whose wrongful execution underscores Victor’s cowardice and social privilege. Without her story, she argues, the consequences of Victor’s silence lose one of their sharpest points.

“Justine’s fate forces readers to confront systemic injustice,” Carlson says. “Without that element, the film risks softening the critique.”

The decision to reinvent Elizabeth also raises questions. While giving her more agency modernizes the story’s gender dynamics, it may shift narrative weight away from the Creature’s suffering and toward Victor’s internal conflict.

“Shelley wrote a world in which women were excluded from scientific discourse and paid the price,” Carlson notes. “Empowering Elizabeth changes the emotional balance of the story—but it also brings a contemporary relevance that Shelley might appreciate.”

Ultimately, del Toro’s Frankenstein walks a delicate line: reverent to the spirit of Shelley’s philosophy while reshaping her narrative for modern audiences. Its departures are not accidental—they reflect a filmmaker seeking to translate rather than imitate.

Whether viewers embrace the changes may depend on what they believe Frankenstein truly is: a horror story about scientific hubris, or a tragedy about abandoned creation yearning for love.

Del Toro, for his part, is certain of his answer—and now audiences must decide theirs.